


Unexpected

by maryfic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryfic/pseuds/maryfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidents under the mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Secret Santa Fic Exchange on Tumblr for http://thedailyrickman.tumblr.com/
> 
> Happy Christmas, Kacie! 
> 
> Prompts used: Mistletoe, Severus/Hermione, fluff, humor. PG-13. 
> 
> If you would like a sequel to this or for me to expand it, please let me know in the comments!

He hadn’t seen her since after the graduation party for the ‘8th year’ students, those that were left after the conclusion and subsequent clean up of the second wizarding war. With Voldemort destroyed for good, Severus Snape found himself with a clean arm, if not a clean slate; and the ability, for the first time since he’d come to Dumbledore, angry and scared; to not renew his teaching contract. 

He fingered the document, which had arrived in time, precisely on the first day of summer. It was now nearly August, and he’d not yet made a decision. There was another, much thinner document – a short note, in fact, and one that kept popping up disturbingly in his thoughts.  
The little know-it-all had somehow managed to secure high enough grades in all of her courses to seek out an apprenticeship in the field of her choice – he’d assumed she would take Charms or even Transfiguration. Merlin knew she was good enough at it. 

But that little note said otherwise. 

_Professor Snape,_

_I do not know what your plans are, post-Hogwarts, but consider this an official inquiry as to whether you would consider taking on an apprentice for Potions Mastership. I look forward to your response no later than August 1._

_Hermione J. Granger_

The candles were now dripping inexorably towards midnight on July 31. And when had that little she-witch figured out that he wasn’t returning to teach another year? Brightest witch of her age indeed, he snorted. His hand slashed a reply and he sent it off with the owl that had arrived an hour earlier – large and dark, almost raven-sized. 

***

By September, he had filed the official paperwork with the Ministry to take on Miss Granger as an apprentice and moved from his rooms at Hogwarts back to Spinner’s End. 

A long few months followed in which he made the house habitable – somewhat – and began to worry about her arrival in December, much like a sore tooth that he was far too good at poking with his tongue. She was a student, that was *all*, he told himself repeatedly. A smart-aleck, know-it-all, snarky *child*, Severus thought, sitting down to dinner one night, his planned apprentice curriculum in one hand and a fork in the other. His thoughts were maddeningly similar the closer her arrival came. 

It was traditional for apprentices and Masters to live together during the four-year course of study, at which end the apprentice would presumable pass Mastery and go out into the world. Usually the two were of the same gender, but he would damn sure make it clear that no feminine wiles would clear his expectations any faster, and that he would not appreciate them regardless. 

There hadn’t been a female presence in this house since his mother passed, and the spector of Tobias Snape overshadowed any fripperies Eileen might have wanted to bestow upon her home. So the end result was that it looked, much as Snape did, austere, dark, forbidding. 

Good. The girl would learn. 

***

December arrived with a snowstorm, as usual – and Hermione Granger, not as usual. Her belongings were quickly stowed away and he had her settled as fast as he could, anxious to set into a pattern that allowed for no deviations. 

Unfortunately, Miss Granger had other ideas. When had she gotten so – distinctly not child-like, her form hugged by the sweaters she wore over wool skirts and tights that covered legs, pouring into sensible, thick boots appropriate for potions lab work. Her hair, always messy and untamed during school, was now often found pulled back in a severe bun that McGonagall would have approved, not a strand of hair loose to catch in a splash of potion or ingredient. 

And her attitude – clearly the Potter boy and Weasley had been bad influences on her. Severus found Hermione bloody charming, of all things, and her conversation, far from the insipid thing he’d dared think was the best he would get, was intelligent and challenging, offering him a sharp by-play of words that he found himself looking forward to each day they worked together. 

It was when he found her hanging mistletoe above the door to the potions lab that things got ugly. 

“Miss Granger!” he snapped, the sight of the twig and berries raising his ire to terrible levels so early in the day. 

Hermione eeped and spun, her motions setting the small stepladder beneath her to rocking and then to tilting and then he had an armful of Granger, and her hands were around his neck – and that gods be damned plant was still above their heads. 

They froze, an awkward tableau, he on one knee, cradling her in his arms, she with her mouth slightly open, flushed, a sassy curl choosing this very, very bad moment to escape down and highlight the curve of her cheekbone. 

Severus frowned harder than he’d ever frowned in his life. “Did you know, Miss Granger, that mistletoe is parasitic?” 

She shook her head. “Invasive, yes. Parasitic, no.” 

Why were they having this conversation again? 

“They are also used to –“ Severus paused. “ease heart complaints and distress.” 

Hermione’s eyes got big, but she covered well as he stood her up. 

“And then, of course, the silly tradition of kissing.” he concluded, glancing upwards at the stem, with its waxy leaves and bright red berries. 

“You think kissing is silly, Master Snape?” she inquired. 

Severus reached a hand above their heads and plucked a berry, one of three. Then he kissed her, just a peck, something she might have given her maiden aunt or a complete stranger! Hermione touched her cheek afterwards, swearing that he’d burned her. 

“And that silly tradition also says that you owe me two more. One for each berry.” 

Her mouth gaped as he moved past her, picking up the stool and replacing it smoothly underneath the lab table in the center of the room. 

“Now, I believe we were making the Licorice Salve today, were we not?” 

It was as though the entire sequence of events had never even happened, and she shook herself, trying to fall back into her unaffected groove. 

But Hermione’s gaze landed on the mistletoe – and sure enough. There were only two berries left. 

END


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One down, two to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who asked for the remaining berries: guty, and badger. Merci!

Two weeks had passed, and Hermione was finding herself nervously staring upwards every time she entered the lab. It was becoming a nervous tic since she had hung the dratted piece of mistletoe – what bad judgment that had been! She chastised herself, lighting the fire and laying out the ingredients for the Wolfsbane that was about to reach stage two. Hermione frowned as she sorted and chopped, diced and sliced, and generally tried to force her mind back into its usual tidiness as she worked. 

And then Severus came in, his coat buttoned up tightly even in the heat of the work room, buttons fastened up to his throat and the cutaway at his waist turning the fabric down over his hips and his long legs as he strode towards her. Was that the fire that was bringing heat to her cheeks; or the cruel anticipation of his next move? 

“Good morning, Miss Granger.” 

He’d said that to her every morning since she’d arrived. Even the morning after he’d kissed her, she thought. Like nothing had changed, or ever would, between them. But, Hermione thought with a small smile, hidden as she turned to check on the softly roiling cauldron behind her, something had. Severus Snape had a new accessory on his office desk. A small jar with a red berry floating in some sort of solution had appeared on the corner of his desk. 

Neither of them mentioned it, but that jar was driving her insane. And the remaining two berries that caught her attention numerous times a day were not helping. Severus appeared behind her with a bronze stirrer, sliding it into the potion and checking the consistency. 

“I believe that it is ready for the next stage, Miss Granger.” 

His voice drawled next to her ear and she jerked backwards into him – into his *arms*, for Merlin’s sake. Severus sighed deeply, as though she were merely a great inconvenience to him and set her forward once again. “You seem to be growing clumsier the closer we grow to the holiday. Perhaps your anticipation for St. Nicholas is greater than I had imagined.” 

Oh, that made her fume. Only children expected gifts from St. Nicholas, and she was no child, Hermione blustered silently. She gathered herself and stepped around him to add four separate ingredients, in the proper order. Her voice was icy as she spoke. 

“You have no clue what I am anticipating – **Master** Snape.” 

His lip curled as he stirred each ingredient into the pale orange liquid. Oh, he didn’t, did he? She was playing a dangerous game, that little girl was, and to his own surprise, he was enjoying teasing her. “Rest assured, Miss Granger. Good things come to those who – shut up about it.”  
He leaned down and kissed her – this kiss was no familial chasteness as he pressed their lips together. The heat of the fire brought the spicy scent from his robes to Hermione’s nostrils, and before she could name the scents, Severus had already turned back to the potion and she was left in silence again. 

“Keep an eye on the heat, Miss Granger. Wolfsbane is a very delicate potion – wouldn’t want it to boil over, would we?” The potions master moved away from the work table and passed under the mistletoe on his way out of the room, and when she looked again, there was only one more berry. 

Hermione was beginning to think that he enjoyed this sort of thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last berry is just as unexpected as the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year later. 
> 
> For everyone who has hung on for me. Thanks!

It was nearly Christmas again, and Severus had finally given up the ghost and told Hermione to stop, just stop, already, and leave the potions lab to him. He knew very well what was causing her lack of focus – not to say that her work had diminished any, that is – but as much as he was enjoying the reactions his unexpected behavior was causing in his apprentice, his own reactions were causing him no small amount of contemplation and even mild distress. A heart complaint, he snorted, packaging pepper-up potion for shipment to St. Mungo’s outlying clinics. There were always more colds and flu than could be treated in the poor sector this time of year, and this was a nod to his own past growing up without several things other wizards took for granted – adequate medical care being one of them. 

He sent the crate through the fire, and then three more before turning to the soothing repetition of cleaning his lab for the two day holiday, during which he would use customized spells to sanitize and create a clean environment for the new year, and a few delicate projects he wanted to start Hermione – Granger, he thought harshly – on after Boxing Day. Severus cleaned on auto-pilot, moving around and examining the feelings that had grown as slowly and invasive as Japanese honeysuckle. Though she was much prettier than the invasive vine from the Asian continent, Severus was forced to admit that the feelings she’d created were gathering strength, and he wasn't sure whether he, as the host tree, would survive the onslaught. 

The potions master wondered, more often than he would have liked, if seeing her had become some sort of hallucinogenic agent, giving rise to thoughts he’d long since abandoned – a future that involved more than pastes and tinctures, more than the four stone and steel walls of his lab, more than the swift death he’d signed up for more than twenty years ago. 

And then there was that little problem. A bright young witch might well have problems with dating (dating, dear god, he was actually contemplating the very idea), let alone anything more with someone twice (more than) her own age. Surely she would laugh in his face. But the mistletoe brought the memories of those two kisses racing into his mind, speeding his pulse and warming him in more than a few places. The bright and cheerful last berry mocked him, much as the girl did, every time she walked under it. Do you know how hard it is to avoid such meetings? Killing Voldemort with a dozen horcruxes would have been easier, and yet he’d managed for a year. 

He laughed and the sound bounced back at him from the empty space and then he sighed at how depressing it sounded, echoing around him. Severus shook his head. He was an adult, not a child, and it was time for childish games to be over and done with. He was who he damn well was, and if the little witch didn’t like it, then better they end this charade here and now. Despite his firm resolution, he completed his tasks before leaving the lab. Five strides down the hallway, he spun and walked back, tearing the mistletoe from its patient watch. He slammed the door and set the containment spells. 

***

Hermione, for her part, spent Christmas Eve speaking to her parents through an ensorcelled mirror and catching them up on the first year of her apprenticeship – but not Severus, or what they’d shared when she first arrived at Spinner’s End. God knew if the man even had feelings, after last Christmas. The mistletoe had remained, however, and despite her repeated solitary efforts to remove, she was stymied at every turn. The blasted man had let it hang up there all year, for god’s sake, and he still owed her a kiss for that last berry, according to his own rules! 

But she didn't have time for the messiness of feelings – it was time to get over it. Severus was never going to follow through, and she would just have to accept that. As if he’d given her any other choice. It would serve him right if he was angry about her hair, Hermione thought, untying the scarf she’d covered her haircut with on the way back from London’s fashion district earlier in the day. The style curled around her ears and chin, and the stylist had compared her to a mischievous Christmas elf. If only he knew, she thought with a laugh. Dour potions apprentice, more like. 

But it was almost time to face the music. Severus had requested she bring him her second year project ideas to him at dinner tonight, and god help her if she were late. Picking up the folder and a small wrapped box, the witch blew out her breath and headed down to the main floor. 

The kitchen looked just the same as it always did, there was nothing to catch her attention, nothing out of the ordinary. Severus sat at the head of the table, his reading glasses reflecting both fire and candlelight as he read from a long sheaf of parchment. Food was laid on the table, and she sat down, putting the small box near his elbow without comment. Hermione shook out her napkin and waited, pretending to examine her project ideas until Severus was damn good and ready to acknowledge her. 

“What, exactly, is that.” He asked, without looking up. He made a few notes and rolled the parchment up, pinning her to her chair with the piercing gaze that often fueled her dreams. Puffed up, Hermione said, in the most casual tone she could manage, “Present.” Less casual, more pleading….ugh. She was terrible at these things. 

Intrigued, but not willing to show it, Severus picked up the box and restrained the urge to sift through her mind for what it was. Surely she wouldn't give him something frivolous. His fingers unwrapped the packaging and he removed a small wooden box from the plain paper. He could feel the magic emanating from it, and a familiar scent. He didn't bother to open the silver latch. “Miss Granger, are you aware that Dragon’s Blood is considered a contraband substance by the Ministry of Magic?” 

She had the grace to blush, at least. Which made him wonder, a: how far that redness went down beneath her sweater; and b: what in the name of Merlin had she done to procure this? He couldn't even get that damn regulation committee to let him have it. But he was a Death Eater, after all. He snorted mentally and waited for an answer.   
“Um.” No story at the ready, he noted. Perhaps he could get the truth, after all. “My parents have a summer home in the Azores, and it grows wild there. I harvested it and dried it myself this summer, when I went to visit them. The regulation states that no more than half an ounce may be brought into the country for personal use, if you haven’t paid for it.” As she moved into her explanation, her words grew more firm, and more defensive. “I can’t believe you thought I would get it off the black market!” She might have enjoyed him thinking such a thing, actually. 

He crossed his arms. That was…perhaps a good sign to his plans tonight after all. The girl was willing to risk at least a six-month stay in Azkaban to procure a rare magical ingredient to add to his stores. His eyes flicked upwards and down too quickly for her to notice. Good. It was still in place, swaying slightly on the thread it was tied to above Hermione’s head. 

Severus cleared his throat and rescued her. “Thank you, Miss Granger. What a thoughtful and appropriate gift.” Was she disappointed at the lack of effusiveness? Let her be. He was no Weasley, to fawn and fuss over a simple (utterly perfect) gift. He began to eat, and she sighed quietly and took up her fork as well. Severus let a smile grace his lips as he bent down over his place. Oh, this was very, very entertaining. Surely this was why the Marauders’ had pranked within an inch of their lives. For the first time, the memory of them didn’t cause a cold knot to form in his gut. The woman sitting across from him was giving him better memories to replace the painful ones, albeit slowly. 

After dinner, Hermione rose too fast and he had to drop his fork – “Stop.” Settle, easy, back into the plan, Snape. 

“Why? We’re done here. I’ve left my project ideas on the table, Severus.” Her tone clearly indicated he’d done something wrong, but she would wait for him, if she had any desire for him at all. He hoped. 

Severus moved around the table to stand beside her chair and noticed, for the first time, her hair. The shortness of it was shocking and he forgot and let his emotion show on his face. Too late to call it back, Severus felt her stiffen in front of him, and the door was closing, fast, too fast, and his plan was blown up around them as he bent to kiss her quicker than she could move away, sliding his large hands into her hair to cradle her head as he plundered, let her feel this, this real, this heat between them – not the words he was too clumsy to say and the emotion he too often mishandled for his own good. 

Breathless, he let her go, and savored the moment as she fought to come to her senses. And god, he did love her haircut, he realized. Wispy, flying around her face and kiss reddened lips. “Look up, Hermione.” Severus managed, when his breath was his own, and regrettably, no longer shared with her. 

Her eyes tracked upwards to light upon the ring with three berries mounted in a twisted silver setting and band. Panic brought them back to his and he silenced her with a look.   
“That is a promise ring, Miss Granger. I promise to give you a year and a day to leave me or take me, without changing me. Nothing more, nothing less.” It came out more harshly than he’d hoped (practiced) but that was the essence of what he wanted to say. It was him. And he was offering it to her. For good or ill. 

The silence was nearly unbearable for a man who’d lived nearly his entire life craving the peace of silence, to get away from the noise and chatter of children and death eaters. If Severus was not Severus, he might have fidgeted. But Hermione could have been standing next to a statue for all he moved, waiting. 

Her lips twitched once, twice, then she touched them, much as she had after the first berry – but this time, this time it was her hand that came up filled with the berries, and Severus slipped the ring on her right ring finger, as was traditional for promises, and waited to see if she would speak. 

When she did, it was entirely unexpected. 

“Do I have to wait a whole year and a day?” 

THE END


End file.
